


Snowed In

by Spikedluv



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan gets snowed in without Methos on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowed In

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the HLCrossroads Gift Horse contest in which a tangible present must given to the main character(s).
> 
> Posted to LJ: January 28, 2004

Duncan paced the length of the cabin once more, then stood looking out the front window, contemplating the snow that had accumulated overnight and during the morning. Three feet, and it was still falling. He’d already shoveled the paths to the garage and generator twice, and he’d probably have to go out a couple more times before the snowfall ended. He rubbed his hand over his face, and then back through his hair, sighing in disappointment.  
He didn’t know why he bothered; it looked like Methos wasn’t going to be able to make it home even if he shoveled all day and night. No amount of shoveling paths or snow blowing the driveway after the snow ended was going to bring Methos home. The weather reports on the radio said that they were starting to close the roads to anything other than emergency vehicles.

He forced himself to return to the chair he’d been sitting in before he had resumed pacing. He dropped into it and stretched his feet out towards the fire. When he went out to shovel that morning he’d carried in a large stack of firewood, and now hoped it would hold him through the night. They had electric heat, but he didn’t want to have to use all the fuel in the generator, just in case the storm lasted for a long while. He looked consideringly at the book lying on the end table. He reluctantly picked it up, found where he had left off, and began to read.

Moments later, his mind was once again on Methos. The older Immortal had gone to London to translate some musty old documents, promising Duncan that he’d be back before Christmas. They spoke on the phone every day while he was gone, and Methos had told Duncan not to worry, continuing to assure him that he would be there. Now here it was Christmas Eve day, and Methos still hadn’t arrived.

And to make matters worse, there was a raging blizzard outside that would keep the other man away even if his flight had landed safely. He pounded his fist against his thigh angrily at the way things had worked out. This was their first Christmas in the cabin, and Duncan had wanted it to be special. Instead, he was snowed in on Christmas Eve. Alone. Duncan wished he could call Methos now, but the telephone had been out when he woke, and Methos had taken Duncan’s cell with him because his wouldn’t hold a charge.

Tears of frustration and unhappiness stung his eyes. He’d really been looking forward to spending this holiday with Methos. He wanted to make it special; a thank you that the older Immortal had agreed to move back up north after spending twelve years in the warm, tropical clime of Brazil, even though he knew it would be cold. He let his mind drift back to that day over a year ago when he’d been looking at properties on the Internet. His attention had been captured by a picture of the cabin with the lake behind it and snow-capped mountains in the distance.

Methos, whom he’d left reading on the couch, snuck up behind him while he was studying the pictures and kissed him on the cheek, then looked over his shoulder and asked him what he was looking at. Duncan explained that he was checking out some properties in anticipation of their need to move soon, and then hit the ‘back’ button on his browser and looked at the next listing. The other man had made a comment about the cabin, and Duncan had shrugged it off, downplaying its importance.

Methos hadn’t been fooled. The next time he was alone with Duncan’s computer, he’d checked out the real estate site himself and contacted the realtor. The next thing Duncan knew, they were flying north to look at the property and placing an offer on it. Duncan had been shocked at Methos’ immediate response, and argued with the other man, insisting that he knew Methos didn’t like the cold, and that he didn’t expect them to move back to the north. Methos had silenced him with a kiss, and then told Duncan that it would be up to him to keep him warm.

Duncan gave a little smile as he unconsciously rubbed his thumb over the golden band he wore on his left hand. The unity ring Methos had given him for their tenth year anniversary. He looked at it now and thought of Methos; the oldest Immortal, a man who had survived for over 5000 years, through good times and bad. This moment was just a blip in time for him, for both of them. There were so many happy memories in their lives, together and apart, that this sad one would soon be forgotten in the fullness of time. He knew that, but it didn’t seem to help much at the moment.

Annoyed at himself for being so depressed over something he couldn’t change, something that was unimportant in the scheme of things, Duncan pushed himself out of the chair and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Looking at his red-rimmed eyes and blotchy face in the bathroom mirror, he was glad Methos wasn’t here to see him like this.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to stop being so maudlin. He just needed to find something to keep himself busy. He could bake more Christmas cookies, but the counter top and freezer were already full. He could clean...again, but the surfaces already shone in anticipation of Methos’ appearance. The tree and the entire cabin were decorated, and soup was simmering on the stove while a loaf of bread baked in the oven.

He wondered what Methos was doing right this minute. Probably reading, or writing in one of his journals. Was he missing Duncan as much as Duncan was missing the older Immortal? Would he come home prepared to make it up to Duncan that he hadn’t gotten home in time for Christmas like he promised? Methos would have his work cut out for him making Duncan feel better - that was for certain.

Duncan swore that, once Methos got home, he wasn’t going to let the other man out of his sight anytime in the foreseeable future. He imagined tying Methos to the bed so he wouldn’t be able to leave for a long while. He thought about that for a moment and, in his mind, the heavy ropes turned to silk scarves. The reason for Methos being restrained and splayed out before him changed from punishment to pleasure. As did the purpose for the spanking Duncan was sure the other man deserved for making him spend the holidays alone. Duncan grew hard at the thought of what he would do to the older Immortal, and the picture in his head of Methos’ capitulation as the other man begged him to be fucked.

Duncan groaned and loosened the drawstring on the sweats he wore, shoving the waistband down and freeing his suddenly raging erection. He leaned back against the wall for support and wrapped his fingers around his penis, forming a loose fist and pulling gently. The light friction combined with the picture of Methos’ ass red from the spanking, the memory of the taste of him, and the imagined sound of his voice pleading for Duncan to touch him, to let him come, to fuck him harder, faster, deeper, brought him closer and closer to orgasm.

When dream-Methos said, ‘God, I love you, Highlander,’ just as real-Methos had done the night before he left for London, Duncan came with a roar, and then slumped bonelessly against the wall, the muscles in his legs shaking as he tried to hold himself up. When he could make his muscles respond, he moved back over to the sink and cleaned up. He glanced in the mirror at his flushed face and sex-glazed eyes. Now *that*, he thought, was how Methos would like to see him.

Between once more shoveling the path to the garage so he’d be able to get the snow blower and the SUV out when the snow finally let up, and shoveling the path to the generator, which he’d had to turn on that morning, Duncan was tired...and famished. He sliced the bread that had been cooling on the counter and spread it with butter, then dipped a bowl of the homemade chicken soup. He ate in front of the fireplace, wishing Methos was there to enjoy the warmth and good food with him.

When he looked at his watch after washing up the few dishes he’d dirtied and putting the soup and bread away, it was only four o’clock. He looked at the snow crashing into the windows and thought it was a perfect afternoon for a nap. He threw some more wood on the fire, then wrapped the comforter around himself and curled up on the couch. As he drifted off, he thought that it would have been so much more fun if Methos was there to share the warmth of the fire, the comforter, their bodies...

***

Something woke Duncan. He sat up on the couch and listened intently, but heard nothing. His heart was beating rapidly from being startled awake; he leaned back on the couch and waited for it to slow. He checked his watch. Almost nine o’clock. He’d been asleep for nearly five hours. His stomach grumbled and he decided to heat up some more soup.

That’s when he realized that he really *didn’t* hear anything. Everything was silent - eerily silent after the noise of the raging wind during the storm. He got up and peeked out the window. The snow had stopped falling some time while he’d been sleeping, and moonlight illuminated the snow-covered yard and trees. It was majestic, but he found it difficult to enjoy the beauty of it. He wondered if it was the sudden hush that had woken him.

After putting the soup back on the stove to heat, Duncan went to the bathroom. He relieved himself, then washed his hands and face and brushed his teeth. He contemplated taking a shower, but decided to wait until the next morning when he was certain he’d work up a sweat shoveling and snow blowing the paths and driveway, again. He knew he’d be out there first thing, cleaning it up just in case Methos was finally able to get through.

He resolved to try and read some more of the book that had been unable to hold his attention earlier while the soup heated, and had just settled into his chair after putting more wood into the fireplace when he heard a noise from outside. It was faint, but sounded like an engine. He listened closely, and the noise got louder. Someone, or something, was out there. Duncan got up and moved to the front window.

He thought he saw a light break over the horizon, but wasn’t certain. He kept watching, but everything was dark again, and he no longer heard the sound of the engine. He wondered if it had been a snow plow out clearing the roads, but couldn’t deny that he’d hoped it was Methos. Steeling himself against the disappointment that suffused his entire being, he turned to make his way back over to the chair.

Duncan heard the noise again, and again he would have sworn it sounded like an engine. Suddenly, Immortal presence washed over him. Methos! he thought excitedly. The older Immortal was the only one he could sense from further away than the front yard. He turned back to the door, unlatched it, and pulled it open, staring intently out into the moonlit night.

He was rewarded when a massive shape appeared out of the night. He stood frozen in place as the unfamiliar form resolved into a snowmobile and rider. When the machine pulled up to the porch Duncan could see that the driver was alone, but the snowmobile had been pulling a small trailer that had a bundle strapped to it.

Duncan’s heart clenched as he watched the driver get off the snowmobile and unstrap the package from the trailer, then lumber up the snow-covered porch steps under it’s weight. The man, clad warmly in a two-piece snowmobile suit, heavy mittens, snowmobile boots, and a snowmobile helmet, stopped before him and dropped the bundle.

"You going to make me stay out here all night?" he asked as he removed the helmet. "You know it’s bloody freezing out here, right?"

Duncan felt his eyes tear up. "What are you doing here?" he asked brokenly.

There was a pause. "I could leave," his visitor said, and turned to do just that.

"No!" Duncan cried, grabbing his arm and hauling him into the cabin. He slammed the door shut and began to tear at the heavy clothing covering him, desperate to reach the man beneath. He pulled the wool ski mask off his head, and then unzipped the jacket of the snowsuit. As soon as he could, Duncan slipped his arms inside the jacket and pulled the shivering man against him, careless of the cold and snow seeping into his own clothing.

"Methos," he rasped, burying his face into the crook of the other man’s neck. He breathed in his scent. "Oh, Methos," he moaned, wondering if he was dreaming this. Methos’ arms went around him and, as the helmet nudged his butt, he knew he wasn’t. He kissed the older Immortal’s neck as he continued to hold him tight.

Eventually Methos stirred. "I think we’d both be more comfortable if you help me out of this...thing," he said.

Duncan leaned back and stared at Methos with tears filling his eyes. Even with his nose red from the cold the other man was a beautiful sight.

"Duncan," Methos said, and then smiled.

"I didn’t think you’d make it," Duncan managed to choke out. He ran his hand through Methos’ hair, mussed from the hat.

"I told you I would," Methos replied with a grin.

Duncan glanced at the window and the snow built up outside, and then shook his head. "You hate the snow...and the cold," he said. He blinked, and the tears spilled over.

Methos pulled off a heavy mitten and reached up to wipe a tear away with the pad of a cold thumb. "But I love you," he said. "Do you honestly think I’d want to spend Christmas anywhere else?"

"No," Duncan said, shaking his head. "But I didn’t think ‘want’ had a whole lot to do with it," he added with a sniffle as he pushed the coat off Methos’ shoulders and then unhooked the shoulder straps, eager to free him. He grabbed a chair from the table for Methos to sit on while he removed his snowmobile boots. Methos set the helmet on the floor and took off his mittens, then pulled his arms out of the jacket.

As Duncan knelt before him to untie laces stiff with ice and snow, Methos ran his fingers through the other man’s long hair. "Want has everything to do with it," he whispered huskily. "I’ve thought about nothing but being with you on Christmas for days, and there was no way it wasn’t going to happen."

Duncan glanced up at him shyly. He was moved beyond words that Methos had braved the aftermath of a blizzard for him. Of course, he was going to have to punish him for doing something so foolish, but that could wait until he rewarded him for his valor in the face of overwhelming odds. His fingers shook, making the process of removing Methos’ boots take twice as long, but he refused to let the other man take over.

Once the boots were off, Duncan helped Methos out of the rest of the suit and guided him over to the welcome heat of the fire. He wrapped him in the comforter and settled him on the hearth, then sat beside him. "Want some soup?" he asked as he rubbed Methos’ hands to warm them. "I just made it today. Chicken. It’s heating on the stove," Duncan babbled.

"Mmmm," Methos moaned. "Soup sounds wonderful. It was a bloody cold ride! But worth it," he added, squeezing Duncan’s hands.

Duncan moved to get up, and then leaned forward to drop a light kiss on Methos’ lips. He wrapped his arms around the other man, whose own arms were trapped against his sides beneath the comforter, and kissed him again, harder. Methos’ fingers clawed at Duncan’s sweater and he parted his lips so Duncan could deepen the kiss.

Breathless, and more than a little excited, Duncan pulled away from Methos and dropped his forehead to the other man’s shoulder. "I missed you," he said. "I wanted to call you so I could hear your voice, but the phones are out." He lifted his head and kissed Methos again, because he couldn’t stop wanting to touch him. "I’m so glad you’re here."

Methos smiled and kissed Duncan’s lips. "Me, too, Highlander." His smile widened into a grin.

"Oh, God. What?" Duncan asked nervously.

Methos tried to stifle the grin. "Aren’t you going to feed me?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.

"Yes," Duncan said, standing. "But only if you tell me what you were thinking just now," he added as he walked into the kitchen to warm the bread and ladle the soup into bowls. He heard Methos shuffle into the kitchen, the comforter still wrapped tightly around him.

"How much is having me home worth to you?" he asked in an attempt at casual, which only served to turn on Duncan’s bullcrap-o-meter, a skill he’d honed to near perfection after being with Methos for so long.

"Why?" he asked dryly. "What have you done now?" He placed the soup bowls and bread on the table, and then just looked at Methos.

"Me? Why do you assume I’ve *done* anything?" he asked, acting injured.

"Because it’s you, Methos," Duncan retorted. "Now sit down and eat," he said.

Methos sat and picked up the bread. "You have any idea how much a snowmobile costs?" he asked.

"No," Duncan replied, taking his own seat after pouring them drinks and placing them on the table. "How much?"

"Not sure," Methos replied. "A lot. Even more when there’s snow on the ground, did you know that?" he asked in disbelief that Duncan couldn’t be certain was real. "And even more when the buyer is desperate to get to his lover for Christmas," he added.

"Why are you telling me this, Methos?" Duncan asked.

"Because," Methos said, pointing at him, "I want you to remember how happy you were to see me when you get your credit card bill."

Duncan just stared at him, and then he burst out laughing. The damned fool! Duncan wondered if he was really concerned that he would be mad at him for spending the money. He reached out and took Methos’ hand and waited until the other man looked into his eyes.

"Whatever it cost, Methos," he said, "it’s worth it to have you here."

Methos blinked, and then looked at him and smiled shyly. "Of course it is," he said.

***

After supper was cleaned up and the leftovers put back in the fridge, Duncan and Methos snuggled on the couch, wrapped up together in the comforter. They kissed and whispered how much they missed each other and loved each other, and in the middle of a kiss, Methos laid his head down on Duncan’s shoulder and fell asleep.

Duncan looked down at the dark head, and started to cry softly, all the emotion of missing Methos and then being with him finally coming to the surface. He prayed, thanking every deity he could think of that Methos was home, and that he hadn’t gotten killed on the snowmobile trying to get there. He wrapped his arms around the slender man and held him close, running his hands over his back, assuring himself that they were really together.

Duncan woke early the next morning. The sun was already shining brightly and Methos was still sound asleep. They hadn’t had much of an opportunity to talk last night, and he wondered if Methos had gotten any sleep while arranging for the snowmobile and waiting out the worst of the storm. He wouldn’t have slept on the plane, Duncan knew, because he hated flying. When they flew together, he only relaxed when Duncan was holding his hand.

Duncan crawled out of the warm cocoon and wrapped Methos up in the comforter, then turned on the coffee pot before heading into the bathroom. After a cup of coffee to help him wake up, he put on his warm clothes to go outside and start shoveling them out. When he opened the front door he almost tripped over the bag that Methos had dropped there last night. Picking it up, he brought it into the house, barely resisting the urge to peek inside.

Two hours later Duncan had the paths to the garage and generator - which he’d been able to turn off since the electricity had come back on during the night, shoveled out. He checked the snow blower over and started it, then drove it out into the snow-covered driveway, blowing the snow as he went. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Methos was standing on the front porch watching him. He was still wrapped in the comforter, his hair sticking up.

Duncan turned the machine off and moved over to the porch. Smiling over the railing at his lover, he asked, "Did you need something?"

"Yes," Methos pouted. "I woke up alone, and it’s Christmas morning, and I’m hungry," he whined teasingly.

Duncan’s smile grew. "I’ll be in soon. It shouldn’t take more than two hours to blow the driveway out..."

"Duncan!"

"What?" he asked innocently.

Methos narrowed his eyes. "And I need a shower," he said, stretching and pulling the comforter away from his body. His shirt lifted up and Duncan caught a glimpse of pale belly.

"I’ll be right there," he said, and then hurried back to put the snow blower away.

***

When he got inside the cabin, Methos already had the shower running and was leaning against the couch drinking a steaming cup of coffee. After Duncan removed his coat and other outdoor wear, Methos handed him the cup. Duncan took a sip of the warm brew, and then set the cup on the end table and dragged Methos into the bathroom.

He took his time undressing the other man, reacquainting himself with every inch of Methos’ body. It was only when Methos shivered that Duncan gently shoved him into the steam-filled shower and proceeded to quickly remove his own clothes. When he stepped into the shower Methos was standing beneath the spray, hair slicked back, running soapy hands over his chest, pinching his nipples.

Duncan grasped Methos’ face between his hands and kissed him, then pushed his hands away from his chest and brought their bodies together, running his hands over Methos’ back, one moving up into his hair to cup the back of his head and press their lips together, the other trailing down over his ass, curving around a cheek, squeezing it and pressing their groins together.

"Love you," Duncan moaned between kisses.

"Mmm, love you, too," Methos responded breathlessly.

"Missed you." Duncan punctuated this statement with a tender kiss as he continued to pump his hips, grinding his penis against Methos’.

"Oh, yes, m-missed you, too," Methos agreed, moving his own hips and increasing the pressure.

"Didn’t think you were going to make it home." Duncan’s fingers slid between Methos’ buttocks and over his hole.

Methos made a gurgling noise.

"So glad you did," he breathed, pushing his wet finger into Methos’ body as he passionately deepened the kiss and thrust harder and faster against the other man.

"Oh, fuck! Me, too!" Methos cried as he pulled back, his fingers digging into Duncan’s shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. "Yes, Duncan, yes!" he gasped as his climax ripped through him, leaving him shaking and weak.

Duncan turned Methos around and pushed him against the warmed tile. Wiping the warm fluid off his stomach before the water could wash it away, he used it to lubricate Methos’ hole, quickly but carefully preparing him. Methos, hard again from Duncan’s ministrations, urged him to hurry. Duncan scooped up the rest of Methos’ release and used it to coat his own throbbing erection.

Placing the head of his cock at Methos’ entrance, Duncan slowly, steadily pushed forward. His head popped through the ring of muscle and Duncan carefully pressed the rest of the way in until he was fully seated inside the other man, his balls resting against Methos’ ass. He wrapped his arms around Methos’ torso and held him close.

"You feel so good," he groaned into the other man’s ear.

"Gods, Duncan, please," Methos pleaded. "Fuck me!"

It wasn’t exactly like his fantasy, Duncan thought, but it was damned close enough. He pulled out, and then pushed back in. Then again. Driving harder, faster, deeper with each thrust. Methos would have been rammed into the tiled wall if Duncan’s arms weren’t still around him, shielding him. Duncan nuzzled into Methos’ neck and lowered one hand to Methos’ straining erection as he continued to pump into his ass. He wrapped his fingers loosely around Methos, providing only nominal friction for the other man.

"Duncan!" Methos complained breathlessly. "If you don’t..."

"You’ll what?" Duncan growled in his ear, and then bit down on his neck, right at the soft spot where shoulder and neck meet.

Methos immediately changed tactics. He tilted his head back and looked meekly into Duncan’s eyes through lowered lashes. "Please, Duncan," he begged. "Make me come."

Damn him! Methos knew Duncan could never resist when he looked at him like that. Duncan tightened his grip. "Fuck my hand," he whispered hoarsely.

Methos began to move his hips, sliding his cock in and out of Duncan’s hand. Duncan changed his own rhythm so that each time he thrust into Methos, the other man was pushing back onto him. The sounds of Methos’ labored breathing filled Duncan’s ears, his rasping breaths telling Duncan how close he was. That knowledge turned him on even more, so when the older Immortal squeezed his ass around Duncan, he came, shooting his release deep into Methos, again, and again, until he was empty. During his climax, he felt Methos’ penis swell and then twitch in his hand, the other man’s body shuddering as he too reached orgasm, shooting his fluid over Duncan’s hand and the tile in front of him.

***

Showered and dressed, Duncan set about making breakfast while Methos set the table, and then took his place at it and watched him. Duncan found that the other man’s close scrutiny made him nervous. "What?" he finally exclaimed, wondering if he had his shirt on backwards or egg on his face.

"You’re beautiful," Methos said simply.

Duncan froze. "What?" he asked more softly, turning towards the other man.

Instead of making a joke out of it, Methos’ tone remained earnest. "You’re beautiful," he repeated.

"Methos...," Duncan began.

"Why do you put up with a crotchety old man like me?" he asked, and Duncan could tell he wasn’t fishing for compliments, but seriously wanted to know.

He stopped what he was doing, set the pan aside, and moved over to the table. Methos pushed his chair back accommodatingly, and Duncan straddled his legs, facing him. "You mean other than because *you’re* beautiful?" he asked just as earnestly.

Methos shyly lowered his lashes. "Yeah," he said. "Other than that."

"And other than the fact that you’re the most sexy and amazing lover I’ve ever had?" he asked.

Methos blushed, and gently placed his hands on Duncan’s thighs. "Yeah," he concurred, "uh, other than that."

"Well," Duncan said, looking up at the ceiling and thinking. "In addition to liking the way you look, and not being able to get enough of you in bed...I like your voice," he said with a shrug.

"You like...you like my *voice*?" Methos repeated disbelievingly.

"Yeah." Duncan nodded. "It’s very sexy."

"My... You’re with me because you like my voice?" he asked again.

"Well, face it, Methos, half the time when you open your mouth, you’re being an insufferable, exasperating, irritating, know-it-all, and the sound of your voice is really your only saving grace."

"Why you..." Methos raised his hands to tickle Duncan, but the younger man grabbed them.

Gently rubbing Methos’ hands, he continued. "And then there’s the other half of the time, when you’re charming, fun, sweet, kind, smart, funny, intelligent... You’re an interesting guy to be around, Methos. And you make me happy."

Methos sniffed. "Do I make your heart glad?" he asked.

Duncan frowned. "Where did *that* come from?" he asked.

Methos ignored his question. "Do I?"

"Methos, my love, you make my whole *body* glad, ecstatic even, but most especially my heart," Duncan assured him. "I love you with everything that I am, Methos," he said, staring into the other man’s eyes, and then raised both of Methos’ hands to his lips and kissed them.

"I love you, too, Duncan," Methos said.

Since they were already in the middle of a serious conversation, Duncan asked, "I missed you terribly while you were gone, and I’m so glad you made it home in time for the holidays, Methos, but...why did you do it?"

Methos looked at him with a quizzical expression on his face.

"I mean, why did you brave the weather instead of waiting it out and driving home after the roads were cleared?" he tried to clarify his question.

"Ah." Methos nodded his understanding. "Cookies," he replied.

Duncan stared at him. "Cookies?" he repeated.

Methos’ eyes grew wide. "You *did* bake Christmas cookies, didn’t you?"

"Of course, I baked Christmas cookies!" Duncan retorted. "But you...you drove through four feet of snow, in the cold, on a snowmobile...for cookies?"

Methos nodded. "And presents," he added.

"Presents," Duncan repeated.

"And mistletoe," Methos said.

Duncan had to bite back a smile. It was his own fault. He *had* told the other man that he was exasperating, after all. Methos loved nothing better than to live down to your expectations, especially when he could annoy you at the same time. "Mistletoe?" he asked, playing along.

"And you," Methos said. "Not necessarily in that order."

Duncan could feel his lips attempting to turn up in a smile. He pressed them together. "What kind of order would you put them in, then, do you think?" he asked, moving his hips so that he pressed against Methos’ groin.

"Th-that depends," Methos replied, still maintaining his serious demeanor.

"On what?" Duncan asked, putting a little more roll and slide into his movements.

"Oh, gods, uh, well, did you make the peanut butter cookies with the little chocolate star thing on top?" he asked, his voice rising at the last as Duncan leaned in and nibbled on his ear.

"Yes, I did," Duncan whispered into his ear. "I made all your favorites. Chocolate drop and chocolate chip and chocolate jumble..."

"I, er, uh, sense a common theme here," Methos stammered as he pulled his hands out of Duncan’s grasp and grabbed his hips, pulling him in closer and lifting his own hips to meet Duncan’s thrusts.

"Mmm," Duncan agreed. "That’s because I noticed a regular occurrence myself." Duncan ran his tongue down Methos’ neck and then sucked on the soft skin.

"Wh-what’s that?" Methos asked.

"Chocolate makes you horny," Duncan replied huskily.

"I-it does n-not," Methos denied, the movement of his hips becoming more erratic.

"Look at you now," Duncan argued sweetly. "All hot and aching at just the mention of chocolate."

Methos’ struggled to untie the drawstring of Duncan’s sweats. "I don’t think it’s the chocolate," he rasped.

"What then?" Duncan asked as he continued to tease the other man.

Methos shoved his hands inside the sweats, cupping Duncan’s ass.

"The presents?" Duncan asked.

"No," Methos ground out between clenched teeth. "Pretty certain it’s not the presents."

Duncan squirmed on Methos’ lap, feeling the hard proof of the other man’s desire against his own.

"The mistletoe?" he whispered knowingly.

"It’s not the bloody mistletoe," he growled as he stood, forcing Duncan to his feet, and then shoving his sweat pants down his legs.

"Methos," Duncan moaned as Methos tipped him back onto the table, his teasing forgotten. His erection slapped against his belly, and his ass twitched in eager anticipation as Methos tore his sweats off. Duncan watched avidly as Methos unfastened his jeans and shoved them down, freeing his swollen cock.

He reached over Duncan and dipped his fingers into the butter sitting on the table, coating them thoroughly and using the slippery substance to prepare him. Duncan raised his legs over Methos’ shoulders to give him better access. He writhed on Methos’ fingers and babbled incoherently as the older Immortal used his fingers to take him to the edge, and then pulled out.

"Methos, please," he pleaded.

Methos quickly lubricated his cock and pressed the head against Duncan’s hole. Grabbing his hips, he pushed forward, entering him in one thrust. Duncan groaned as he was filled with his lover. Methos froze. "Oh, gods, Duncan," he whispered lovingly.

"Methos, please," Duncan repeated. "I need you to..."

Methos didn’t need any more encouragement. He moved his hips, driving into Duncan’s body like a battering ram. Duncan reached for him and Methos allowed himself to be pulled down into a heated kiss. Duncan’s erection was caught between their bodies, and he lifted his hips, taking Methos in further and grinding his cock against Methos’ belly.

Duncan, who had gotten himself worked up while he teased Methos, and again when Methos’ fingers were inside him, was the first to come. His back arched as he shot his release between them. He watched Methos’ face as the other man struggled not to come too soon, and then lost the battle. He felt Methos’ cock swell inside him, and then the rush of fluid as he filled Duncan’s ass.

***

Another shower - quick this time, and with breakfast prepared, eaten, and cleaned-up, Duncan was sitting on the couch watching Methos as the other man knelt beside the bag he’d brought home with him, and peered inside. He looked up at Duncan with a calculating gleam in his eyes.

"Did you peek?" he asked.

"No," Duncan replied indignantly.

Methos raised one eyebrow.

"Thought about it," Duncan reluctantly admitted. "But I didn’t!"

Methos smiled and pulled out the item laying on top. And then the next. Duncan’s brow furrowed in confusion as he watched.

"What is that?" he asked, perplexed.

"*Your* snowmobile paraphernalia," Methos replied.

"My... Why..."

"You own a snowmobile now," Methos said.

"Yes, but..."

"What are we going to do with one snowsuit?" he asked.

Duncan sputtered wordlessly.

"I mean, when am I ever again going to want to ride it without you?" Methos continued.

Duncan grinned as he got off the couch to check out his new outfit. "Can we take it out this afternoon?" he asked.

"Don’t push your luck," Methos retorted.

Duncan laughed. He spread his snowsuit out and laid down on it, propping his chin in his hand. "What else is in there?" he asked.

Methos pulled out the duffel he’d taken with him to London and his laptop case, and then looked at Duncan to see his reaction. He smirked at the look of disappointment, and then pulled out a gaily wrapped parcel. Duncan’s eyes shot up to his, and they both smiled.

"Is that for me?" Duncan asked coyly.

"No, it’s for..."

Duncan ignored him and grabbed the present out of his hand. "Aha!" he said, pointing at the tag. "It has my name on it!"

Methos frowned and looked closely at it. "The clerk must have put the wrong name on it," he mused.

Duncan swatted him. "It’s your handwriting," he said, then paused. "Can I open it?" he asked shyly.

Methos nodded nervously. He set the empty bag aside and sat back on his heels to watch. Duncan sat up and carefully unwrapped the small package, revealing a flat, nondescript box. He slowly removed the lid and lifted the strip of cotton batting aside, staring intently at the item nestled beneath it, trying to determine if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. He dropped the lid and the cotton to the floor and, with a trembling hand, withdrew the thick gold chain upon which a round locket hung. The locket was inscribed with the MacLeod family crest.

"It took me forever to get it authenticated," Methos said softly. "Is it... I mean, do you recognize it?" he asked worriedly.

"My mother’s locket," Duncan whispered disbelievingly in a thick Scottish brogue. "My father gave it to her on their wedding day. Methos. Where did you find it?" He opened it, but the inside was empty.

"Some collector had it," he said, shuffling closer to Duncan. "It was pure luck that I happened to notice it."

"Oh, Methos! Thank you!" Duncan said as tears filled his eyes. He held the locket close to his chest with one hand and reached for Methos with the other, shifting to his knees so he could hold the other man close. They stayed locked together until the floor became hard on their knees. Methos pulled Duncan to his feet and they moved to the couch to warm themselves before the fire.

Duncan, cradled in Methos’ arms, stared at the locket and let his mind drift back to when he was a young boy. The present faded away as memories, both happy and sad, washed over him. When he finally returned to the now, he was still being held lovingly in Methos’ arms. "Thank you," he said again.

"You’re welcome, my love," Methos said, placing a tender kiss on Duncan’s lips.

"I didn’t get you anything nearly as nice as this," Duncan fretted.

"You give me something nicer than this every day," Methos replied, his eyes telling Duncan how much he adored him.

Duncan smiled self-consciously, and then got up to get Methos’ present off the mantle where he’d hidden it in plain sight. He sat back down on the couch beside his lover and handed the envelope to the other man. Methos tore it open and pulled out the small folder that held a brochure and two plane tickets.

Methos turned to him and smiled. "Someplace warm, yeah?"

Duncan grinned. "Yeah."

"A deserted tropical island?" Methos asked hopefully.

"Well, I don’t know if it’ll be deserted," Duncan replied, "but we have a bungalow on the beach for a whole month."

"When are we going?" Methos asked excitedly as he pulled the tickets out to look at them.

"February," Duncan told him. "The weather’s supposed to be really cold here in February, so I thought that was a good time to go."

"Good thinking... You bought these six months ago!" he exclaimed when he noticed the purchase date.

"Yeah," Duncan said. "You don’t know how hard it was making sure you didn’t find them. And not spilling the beans myself," he added as an afterthought.

"Thank you," Methos said, leaning in for a kiss, and taking two. "I love it."

Methos settled into Duncan’s arms, and the two men relaxed in front of the fire as they held each other, each still contemplating their gift from the other.

"I was thinking," Duncan finally spoke.

"Should I be scared?" Methos teased.

Duncan poked him in the ribs, but otherwise ignored his comment. "I think we should buy a place down south, New Orleans maybe, someplace to spend the winters. We can stay here for the summers, and then go down south when it gets cold."

"Like old people?" Methos asked, askance.

Duncan poked him again. "You’re the oldest people I know," he reminded him.

"Oh, right," Methos agreed with a frown. "So, how long have you been thinking about this?" he asked.

Duncan blushed.

"Mac-Leod," Methos said in a sing-song voice. "How long?"

"Since yesterday," Duncan admitted, and then looked up at Methos sheepishly. "I hated that you couldn’t get here because of the weather."

Methos leaned over Duncan and placed his present on the end table, then gently took the locket from Duncan and laid it on top of the envelope. He took Duncan’s face in his hands and stared into his eyes. "I hated it, too," he said, and then kissed him.

Duncan embraced Methos and pulled him closer as he parted his lips, silently urging the other man to deepen the kiss. When they finally pulled apart, lips wet and swollen, breathless, Duncan pressed his face into Methos’ neck.

"I love you, Methos," he whispered, squeezing the other man tighter. "I just wanted to make this Christmas perfect for you."

Methos pulled away and urged Duncan to lift his head so he could look into his eyes. "Being with you *is* perfect," he said, gently rubbing his thumb over Duncan’s swollen bottom lip. "I love you, too, Duncan." He leaned in and kissed the younger Immortal again.

"Merry Christmas, my love," Duncan said, eyes watery and voice full of emotion.

Methos ran his fingers into Duncan’s hair and pulled his face close. "Merry Christmas, Highlander," he breathed against Duncan’s parted lips, and then claimed them for another, longer kiss.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Tammy and Lisa W. for the most excellent beta!
> 
> My older fic is being posted w/o additional edits, so I apologize for the excessive use of things like 'the older Immortal'. *g*


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